


the temperature's dropping (stay a little longer)

by defcontwo



Series: stay a little longer (you're making me feel i'm not alone) [1]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:31:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/pseuds/defcontwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim hates the cold, Jason doesn't do mistletoe and Dick maybe kinda sorta sends them on a date disguised as a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the temperature's dropping (stay a little longer)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr and written for the fantastic runmonsterrun on their birthday.

Tim digs his hands deep into his jacket pockets, fighting a shiver. He hates this type of weather -- hates the way it feels like he's never warm, not really, like there's a chill deep down in his bones. He hates how his lips crack and peel, hates how patrol is always that much more of an effort, weighted down by insulation and running and running to keep the circulation going because not even shitty weather can keep Gotham crime down. 

And now he's just agreed to sacrifice his entire Monday night outside, in the cold, when it was supposed to be his night off. Good show, Timbo. 

He shakes himself before bringing a gloved fist out of his jacket pocket to bang on the heavy, metal sliding door in front of him. "C'mon, Jay, open up." 

The door slides open, revealing Jason, leaning against the door jamb with a scowl on his face and a heavy, lumpy purple knit cap pulled down over his ears. 

Tim raises both eyebrows. "Nice hat." 

"Shut up," Jason snaps. "My heater's broken." 

"Then you won't mind giving up your evening to spend it with me somewhere else, then, would you?" Tim says because yeah, it's entirely possible that this is going to take some cajoling. He doesn't even want to be doing this, how is he going to talk Jason into doing this. 

"Depends, princeling, are we going to spend it in your heated apartment making use of your stupid fancy fireplace that you've never even used before or are you trying to talk me into patrol?" 

"Well," Tim begins carefully, "it's not exactly patrol?" 

"Spit it out, Tim." 

"You know the German Methodist Church in the Bowery? They're putting on a Christmas Market for the community tonight. It's a nice thing, they're giving out food and providing activities for kids, so --- "

"So B thinks some crazy in a mask is gonna show up to ruin the fun?" Jason finishes. 

"Yep." 

"So, you volunteered us for babysitting duty?" 

Privately, Tim thinks Dick threw him at this case because he thinks Tim needs to learn to take a little more time to himself. He was a little too eager at pointing out that Tim and Jason were the only ones without missions for the night and maybe Dick's right, a little, but that doesn't mean Tim has to like it any better. 

"Volunteering isn't quite the word I'd use, no," Tim says, voice dry and Jason makes a clucking noise, shaking his head. 

"You gotta learn to grow a spine when it comes to Dickie-Bird, I swear to God, Tim," Jason groans out, but he's tugging on his boots anyways and reaching for a heavy cargo jacket with a bright, bold Wonder Woman patch sewed onto the back that Bruce makes a face at every time he sees it, but Tim is the only other one who knows it's lined with back-up weapons. 

Bingo. 

"If you try to drag me under mistletoe, I will push you into a snowdrift." 

Tim snorts. "Not if I don't push you first." 

Jason grins and it is mostly teeth. "Now, who said romance is dead?" 

\--- 

The Christmas Market is surprisingly beautiful, given that it's sandwiched between a run-down auto factory and the crumbling Methodist church. Bright, colorful lights are strung from fire escapes and rooftops and part of Tim can't help but point out that that's a serious security hazard but he'll let it go, just this once. 

There are pop-up stalls everywhere, both giving out and selling food and craft goods and hot drinks and there are children everywhere, yelling and darting in and out of stalls and the part of Tim that doesn't hate the winter quite so much, that associates it with family and light and finally finding something to tie himself together, that part of him is loving this just a little, just a lot. 

"This is nice, actually," Tim says, as they scout out the perimeter of the market. "I've always liked Christmas." 

His parents weren't always there, not really, but his nanny always made more of an effort and his parents always called, which was more than he could say about the rest of the year. But more than that -- it was what he saw everywhere else, what he saw when he was climbing fire escapes and peering down on Batman and Gotham alike that made him love the holidays, even as he scrunched in on himself, shivering in his parka. People are happier, now, even if it's not always easy, even if they have to make themselves fake it until they make it -- everything is just that little bit more around the holidays, enough to give him a little more faith. 

"Aren't you Jewish?" Jason asks, looking at Tim askance. 

Tim shrugs and his big, heavy parka moves with it. "Technically, yeah. But my mom didn't exactly teach me anything about it, it's not like I ever went to Hebrew school. I'm not much of anything, really. It's just the sentiment of the season that I like, I guess." 

"What, capitalism and commercialism?" 

Tim rolls his eyes and leans over to punch Jason in the arm but he barely feels it through all of the layers and he doubts Jason did either. "No, asshole, family. I don't know. What, you're telling me you've never liked the holidays?" 

"When I was growing up -- fuck, I mean, what did we have to celebrate? Hurrah, we almost made it in time to pay our monthly heating bill? Not exactly a classic holiday tale. I guess -- well, there was that one year," Jason says and then he quiets and Tim knows already that this is a Bruce memory, and that this conversation could go one of two ways. "The first one I had in the Manor, I hated because -- well, for a lot of reasons. But the second one. I don't know, Alfred pulled out all the stops. I helped him bake cookies. It was -- it was all right, I guess." 

Tim hums. He knows from experience that this is a minefield and there's no good, right thing for him to say here. It's always better if he says nothing at all so they walk in silence for several minutes, even as snow starts to fall around them, the temperature dropping even further. 

Finally, though: "I think I might have the recipe for Alfred's cookies lying around, you know." 

"Yeah?" Jason asks and it is too hesitant, so unlike the person that Tim knows. 

"Yeah," Tim confirms. "I've never tried it out because, well -- "

"You're a horrorshow in the kitchen?"

"Yep," Tim says, "but you're not." 

"You just want me to make things for you so you don't have to feed yourself, rich boy," Jason says teasingly, a little bit of bluster to cover it up and Tim smiles, fondly, reflexively. Typical Jason, the contrary fucker that he is. 

"I'll let you use my fireplace," Tim says and Jason rolls his eyes but the effect is lost somewhere between the clashing of his bright red nose and the scratchy purple fabric pulled low over his forehead. 

"Like you weren't going to do that anyways." 

Tim reaches up with a gloved hand and tugs Jason's knit cap down over his eyes. 

"Fine, fuck, I'll make your fucking cookies, you little shit," Jason says. 

Tim crows in victory. 

\--- 

Later, when the night is old and worn and most of the kids have gone home, they can admit that there isn't much happening tonight and they can take some time to themselves, buy some Glühwein and let it warm them up, the warmth of the mugs soaking through their gloves and the warmth of the alcohol running through their veins and Tim is feeling a little more charitable, a little more relaxed, than he has in weeks. His limbs are loose and his mind a little fuzzy and Jason only looks a little bit ridiculous, freckles standing out against his flushed cheeks, but also annoyingly attractive. 

"Don't give me that look," Jason says, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. 

"What look?"

"I told you, I don't do mistletoe." 

Tim pointedly looks around them, where there is absolutely no mistletoe in sight. 

Jason lets out a heavy, put-upon sigh. "Fine, if you're gonna insist." 

"Shut up and kiss me, you scrooge," Tim says and he'd be tugging Jason down to his level but Jason's already halfway there and they're laughing into it when they kiss, pressed close together and as warm as they're gonna get out here and yeah -- Tim's always loved the holidays.


End file.
